


Shattered

by bastardscarnival



Series: The Cursed And The Divine [2]
Category: American Gods (TV), American Gods - Neil Gaiman
Genre: (also brief), (brief) - Freeform, (described but not ‘seen’), (just mentioned) - Freeform, (talked about not acted upon), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Blood Kink, Chronic Pain, Disabled Character, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Polyamory, Size Difference, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-10 03:10:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18930106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastardscarnival/pseuds/bastardscarnival
Summary: The gang leaves Cairo behind as they begin seeking out allies on behalf of Mr. Wednesday.Mad Sweeney struggles with his feelings towards Ash.Ash struggles with feelings of a different kind.





	Shattered

**Author's Note:**

> Before anyone comes for me: I am a trans person. I'm writing this not from a fetishistic standpoint but rather to cope with the reality of many people (queer or otherwise) seeing trans people as "in between" genders or "not really/fully *gender*".  
> Sweeney is dealing with transphobia and internalized homophobia that he's adopted as a result of living in America for so long. BUT THERE WILL BE HEALING, GODDAMNIT!  
> See notes at the end for more discussion of the triggers in this (they will contain plot spoilers for the fic).

It didn’t take long for Sweeney to notice that something was _off_. It wasn’t that Ash became quiet or angry or withdrawn. He was just… fidgety. Restless. More so than usual, not just cracking joints or hyperactivity. It was like he had an itch he just couldn’t scratch.

But he didn’t know how to ask the boy about it, nor did he know how to even begin to help. A part of him wondered if he was imagining things. It was certainly possible. And given his track record of misinterpretations, it was more than likely.

It was raining out, cold too, and Sweeney wondered if that had anything to do with it. He knew Ash’s joints had been worse than usual lately due to the string of bad weather, and he’d done his best to keep the boy warm and comfortable, but beyond acting as a source of body heat and getting Ash painkillers, there wasn’t much he could do.

They were holed up in a one room apartment, somewhere in New England, having left Cairo when Wednesday had sent word that he needed them elsewhere.

Sweeney had been surprised that Ash had decided to come with Shadow and him, perhaps a bit nervous at the thought, though he’d never admit that, even to himself. They’d gotten… _close_ , to be sure, but Ash hadn’t stopped ‘seeing’ Mr. Ibis and Jacquel, and Sweeney had assumed that meant he wasn’t all that invested in their ‘relationship’.

And if that stung a bit too much, and if he felt a bit too jealous, a bit too possessive over the wild-haired boy, well. He wouldn’t admit that either.

Or at least, he tried not to. And he almost succeeded, up until Wednesday’s call, when Ash had asked if he’d be allowed to come as well. Wednesday had, surprisingly, been fine with the idea. Ash had worked for him previously, and it seemed like Wednesday’s current mindset was focused on getting as many people on his side as possible.

“Why not.” He’d said after a long, _long_ pause. “All hands on deck in these trying times. Might as well make use of the allies we have.”

So they’d packed up their things, and Ash bade farewell to Jacquel and Ibis, promising to keep in touch, and, much to Sweeney’s displeasure, spending his last night in Cairo in the company of the two gods as they gave him a proper send off.

Which he’d unfortunately heard every bit of from his room.

And yes, fine, he’d gotten off while listening, and there was something about the muffled gasps and moans of Ash through the wall that got his blood going but he’d be damned if he didn’t hate the thought that someone else was making Ash sound like that.

They could’ve included him, at the very least.

But they weren’t in Cairo anymore, and Sweeney got his wish of being the only one allowed to touch Ash, which he took advantage of at every opportunity.

They’d spent their time in New England doing various tasks for Wednesday, traveling from Salem to Provincetown and other ‘places of power’ that drew the gods to them. Ash was apparently familiar with the area, having lived around Boston for a while when he was younger. He didn’t fit in much, though. None of them did, except when they’d gone to Provincetown, a community that queer folks seemed to flock to. There were bicycle riding drag queens, street performers in boots, bras, and not much else, and plenty of businesses sporting rainbow-colored everything.

Ash had been delighted by it all, lighting up at every little thing, and pulling Sweeney and Shadow over to store window after store window just to point and gush over the merchandise inside.

Sweeney had been vaguely uncomfortable the entire time, though for what precise reason he couldn’t say. Shadow seemed mostly bemused, even as he was openly and aggressively hit on by all sorts, ranging from boys who looked like Ash to men who looked like they could take on Shadow _and_ Sweeney in a fight without breaking a sweat.

Not that Sweeney didn’t get his fair share of glances and comments, but his general aura of ‘fuck off’ kept most people away. At first, Ash seemed to be attracting almost as much attention as Shadow was, but Sweeney nipped that in the bud by putting a possessive arm around the younger boy, and later, even holding his hand as they drifted through the streets. Sweeney had never been one to hold hands. He’d never been one for any PDA, really. But Ash was… different. Or maybe he was making Sweeney different.

They’d finally found who they were looking for when they went into a small shop specializing in what seemed to be pins and jewelry. The person behind the counter had geometric tattoos covering every visible inch of their body, absolutely no hair visible, including eyebrows and eyelashes, and a huge variety of piercings on everything that could be pierced. As they drew nearer, the person’s eyes became visible. They were all one color, no difference between the iris or sclera, just unbroken, bright yellow, with a slitted black pupil that was almost cat-like. Or maybe reptilian. Shadow’s first thought was colored contacts, but given their purpose here, he wouldn’t be surprised if they were natural.

“Hiya!” Ash went up to the counter and leaned on it, smiling brightly. The person, if they could be called that, blinked at them, glancing up at Shadow and Sweeney for a long moment before they smiled. Their teeth looked as strange as the rest of them. Shadow realized they had too many of them, too close together to be human. Neither Sweeney nor Ash seemed surprised by this.

“Hi.” Their voice was gravely and rough, not like a smoker’s voice was, but like a singer who’d done too many tours. “What brings you here, travelers?” They said this with an air of irony, like they were playing a part for the benefit of tourists.

“The Allfather sent us.” Ash informed them evenly. The person’s smile faded somewhat.

“I’m not interested in fighting a pointless war.” They growled. It wasn’t a descriptor that was often used with much accuracy, but they actually growled it, a low rumble seeping up from their chest that seemed far too large a noise to come from someone of their size, or any human for that matter.

Ash nodded. “And hopefully it won’t come to that. But to fight is never pointless. Even if there’s no hope of winning, fighting is an act of resistance that holds power in itself.”

The person was silent.

“Mind if we look around your shop?” Ash asked, as if trying to smooth things over. The person gestured vaguely, as if to say ‘suit yourself’, and Ash stepped away from the counter, busying himself with a display of brightly colored pins. Sweeney and Shadow exchanged glances, shrugging before drifting off to do the same.

“Sweeney, look.” Ash called him over, holding a pin in his hand for the leprechaun to see. Sweeney obediently moved to his side, looking down to see an enamel pin in the shape of a four-leaf clover. It was rainbow colored. “Perfect for you, huh?” He grinned broadly. Sweeney made a face, which killed Ash’s smile immediately. He put the pin down quickly and ducked his head to look at another pin, shrugging as he did so. “Guess you’re not the rainbow type, huh?”

Sweeney opened his mouth to reply. “I’m not-” He stopped. He was about to say ‘I’m not gay’, but that wasn’t exactly true, now was it? He wasn’t… _gay_ gay. He still liked women. But he liked Ash too. And Ash was decidedly not a woman.

 _Isn’t he_ ? A voice in the back of his head wheedled. _He’s not quite a man neither. He’s got woman parts, hasn’t he? Woman’s hair. Pretty like a woman._ The voice echoed what he’d said that night, the first night they’d slept together, as if his own words had stuck somewhere in his subconcious. Sweeney shook his head, like he was trying to clear water from his ears.

“I’m not the clover type.” He replied. “Nothin’ but a stereotype.”

Ash glanced up at him, then smiled cautiously. “You’ll have to forgive me. This is New England, there’s a lot of Irish Stereotypes going around.”

“Hey.” Shadow called from a nearby display. “Think Wednesday would like this one?” [He held up a pin that showed a range of flowers, pink at the bottom, then purple, all the way through the rainbow to red at the top, with a long silver weapon in front of them and a white banner that read “SPEAR QUEER”](https://www.etsy.com/listing/662546462/spear-queer-enamel-pin). Ash nearly fell over laughing.

“The old bastard’s dressed up like a woman enough to qualify.” Sweeney muttered, cracking a grin in spite of himself.

“That’s not the only way he qualifies.” Ash snorted. Shadow and Sweeney both gave him a look, both curious and surprised. “I’m not getting into it. Read up on your mythology.” He shrugged.

“Something tells me I don’t want to know.” Sweeney muttered.

“Probably not.” Ash said, and went back to admiring the wares.

“Ho, changeling child.” The shopkeeper called. Ash glanced up, saw that he was being gestured over, and set down the pin he’d been looking at before approaching the counter once more.

“Changeling child?” Shadow murmured to Sweeney. “Didn’t Ibis and Jacquel say something about that?”

“He’s different.” Sweeney murmured back. “Wouldn’t be surprised if he _was_ a changeling.”

“But what about him makes him… look like one?” Shadow glanced at Ash’s back. “Seems like everyone can spot it a mile away.”

“Yeah well. It’s easier when you’re not human. You know what to look for. Not something that can be taught.” Sweeney shrugged.

“I’ll concede to you that fighting can be a noble act.” The shopkeeper addressed Ash as they folded their arms, causing Shadow to notice how narrow their shoulders were in comparison to their broad hips and stocky legs. “Even in the face of defeat. But fighting for nothing, or fighting to lose, is not itself noble. And I think you know that.”

Ash paused, then nodded. “I can see both sides. But I’m just here on behalf of the Allfather. It’s not my battle. Not my war.”

The shopkeeper gave Ash a long, hard look.

“Of course it is.” They replied, so firmly and with such weight that Ash looked startled by the gravity of their words. “You can tell the Allfather that he can consider me an ally, but not an ally at arms. And you each can take something.” They gestured to the various items. “I’m sorry you wasted your time.”

“I wouldn’t call it that.” Ash smiled. “But thank you.”

Shadow mulled over a button that read “Human” and [an enamel pin that read “Alive”](https://www.etsy.com/listing/259055010/alive-enamel-lapel-pin?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=queer+pins&ref=sc_gallery-80-7&plkey=bbaad5c60cc4dca23b69dd929b75d3d95c6a4453%3A259055010) before deciding on the latter. 

Ash had a much tougher time deciding, puzzling over a blue rose that said “Pretty Boy”, a pink bat that read “Gays Bash Back” and a variety of pins that said “Queer Magic” in various fonts, colors, and shapes.

“Which one should I get?” Ash asked, turning to Sweeney for advice. He shrugged, about to tell Ash that he didn’t really care, before his eye landed on a small circular pin about the size and shape of one of his coins. Almost unthinkingly, he picked it up, turning it over in his fingers reflexively before stepping close to Ash and pinning it to his shirt. Ash glanced down at the pin and smiled, arching an eyebrow.

It was in the shape of the sun, the middle circle burnished gold in color, with the triangle rays surrounding it each a color of the rainbow.

“I love it.” Ash beamed. “Are you getting anything?”

Sweeney shrugged. He didn’t see anything that even remotely appealed to him.

“I’m not really a pin guy.”

“How about this?” Ash picked up a bracelet that appeared to be part-silver band that could be sized to the wrist by an attached cord. Engraved in the silver band was “I Make My Own Luck”. At the end of the chord was a small rainbow bead around which the cord was knotted so it didn’t come undone.

Sweeney hesitated before cracking a smile. “Why not.” He held out his hand, and Ash tugged the bracelet on, adjusting the chord to his wrist, which wasn’t much tighter than the largest it could get.

“Everything about you is just massive.” Ash scoffed, dropping his hand once the bracelet was on.

“You know that better than most.” Sweeney murmured, smirking as he draped his arm around Ash’s shoulder. They thanked the shopkeeper and stepped back onto the street, with Shadow already pulling out the list of “targets” Wednesday had given them.

“You understand that I have bigger fish to fry” He’d told them. “These names are what you might call the ensemble. Or rather, the understudies. B-list actors that I can’t spend too much time on.”

“So we’re the B-list recruiters.” Ash surmised.

“Precisely. Swaying these individuals to our side is not a matter of life or death, but, as always, the more the merrier.”

So here they were.

They made several other stops, some in businesses, some in homes, some merely pausing to talk to the street performers or living statues or beach bums. Some readily agreed to join the fight, some remained hesitant some resolutely refused, and some nearly bit their heads off. They completed the list after the sun had set, minus a few names they couldn’t quite track down, and decided that it had been a productive, albeit long day.

It became a sort of routine. Wednesday would give them a list and the name of a town, and they’d head out to wherever they needed to go. There seemed to be a surprising concentration of non-humans in New England, though Ash cheerfully pointed out that it made sense if you looked at the history of the area.

They had varying levels of success. Mostly it was Ash who lead the way. He seemed persuasive and knowledgeable, changing tact for each person they met with, but essentially saying the same thing:

War was upon them. To fight was to live. Fleeing or freezing was tantamount to death, even if it didn’t actually kill them.

Shadow would jump in on occasion, mostly to back-up Ash’s words, or add in some tidbit he remembered Wednesday saying before. Sweeney mostly hovered behind them and stayed silent.

A few weeks in, Wednesday summoned Shadow to go with him on a trip to Seattle, telling Sweeney and Ash to remain where they were and “hold down the fort”. This meant the two of them finally had the one-room apartment to themselves, and no longer had to worry about Shadow’s presence when they wanted to have some time to themselves.

But it wasn’t long after this that the strangeness had started. Perhaps it had begun earlier, but with Shadow gone, Sweeney was able to notice it.

He’d done his damnedest to keep Ash occupied, trying to distract him from whatever it was that was bothering him through whatever means he could. Sex had been a good method, and effective too, for a while at least. There was a point where the both of them were tired out and over sensitive and sated, laying tangled woth each other on whatever surface they’d fucked on, and Ash’s restlessness would seem to have faded, only to come back a while later, sometimes not for a while, sometimes almost instantly.

Today had been particularly bad.

“What’s wrong?” Ash asked suddenly, his head resting Sweeney’s lap, shaking him out of the distant line of thought he’d fallen into.

The question surprised Sweeney. Wasn’t _he_ supposed to be the one asking that?

“You look concerned.” Ash explained when he didn’t reply. “What’s on your mind?”

“You.” Sweeney answered instantly. Ash laughed and wrinkled his nose.

“I suppose I am rather concerning, aren’t I?”

“Not like that, you imp.” Sweeney shook his head warmly. Now that Ash knew him better, he’d adapted to Sweeney’s insult-based affection rather well, and he had no problem firing back quips as needed. That didn’t mean that Ash relied solely on the playful name-calling to express his emotions, though. Quite the opposite. He was extraordinarily open with his compliments and pet names. Sweeney found it both off-putting and addictive. He also found that he unable to return it in kind.

Mostly.

It was easier after sex. Orgasms loosened his tongue. So did liquor, or the haze before sleep or just upon waking. During these times, he could murmur praise and adorations to the small boy beside him. And Ash, seeming to know Sweeney far too well, didn’t acknowledge any of it, before, during, or after. For this, and so much else, Sweeney was grateful.

“Why are you concerned, then?” Ash blinked up at him, a slight furrow on his brow, but a smile still playing along his lips. He hadn’t yet decided if he should be worried. Sweeney hadn’t yet decided if he should be honest.

“You’ve been acting strange.” Sweeney decided to cut to the chase. Ash could tell when someone was lying, anyways. It was one of the boy’s many odd talents. “I was going to ask you why when you beat me to it.”

The furrow on Ash’s brow deepened. His smile disappeared.

“Sorry.” He mumbled. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Is it just the weather?” Sweeney asked. “Your pain?”

“No.” Ash shook his head after a brief hesitation. “That doesn’t help, but that’s not it.”

“Then what?” Sweeney was both relieved and disappointed that he hadn’t been imagining things. And a part of him that he refused to acknowledge was worried that Ash would reveal some issue that Sweeney couldn’t fix, or that in trying to do so, he’d make things worse. Was it an emotional thing? Was it their relationship? He hated even calling it that. Maybe _that_ was what Ash was worried about. Maybe he wanted to put a label on it. Or maybe he wanted to end it. Or maybe he wanted to go back to Cairo, which effectively meant the same thing.

It occured to Sweeney that it might be an issue of stagnation. Ash had gone from three men fucking him to one. Maybe the boy needed more than Sweeney could give, not in frequency or duration, but in variety.

“Nothing to do with you.” Ash said softly, raising a hand to rest on Sweeney’s cheek, as if he’d read his thoughts and was now attempting to still the brewing storm with a touch.

“Don’t make me ask again.” Sweeney muttered, leaning into Ash’s palm ever so slightly. “I’m not in the mood for a back and forth interrogation. So let’s just skip to the part where you tell me.”

Ash sighed and dropped his hand to rub his own face tiredly.

“Mental health stuff.” He finally said, voice muffled by his palm. Sweeney blinked.

“Like your attention shit?” He asked. Ash had told him he had ADHD shortly after they began sleeping together, and explained what that meant in terms of behaviors Sweeney might encounter. He’d also mentioned the depression and anxiety that came with ADHD and his chronic pain. “Or-”

“It’s not really….” Ash said at almost the same time, then stopped, bit his lip and moved his hand, meeting Sweeney’s eyes and searching them for something before glancing away uncomfortably. “I used to… self harm.”

Sweeney was silent. After a moment, he nodded, even though Ash wasn’t looking at him. He said nothing. It didn’t seem right to.

“I haven’t in _ages_ , but the urge still crops up sometimes. Sometimes it’s stress and sometimes it’s other shit but right now it’s this need to… worship.” Ash’s voice got steadily quieter until the last word, where it dropped off almost entirely. He sounded embarrassed.

“Worship.” Sweeney repeated, unable to keep the incredulous note from his voice. Ash’s eyes flicked back to his nervously. The boy’s face turned red as he shrugged and made a face that was possibly supposed to be a smile.

“It’s weird, I know, but it’s not like I can control what the fuck happens in my brain.”

Sweeney said nothing. Ash’s expression grew more and more worried until he made to sit up. Sweeney’s hand moved to rest on his shoulder, not holding him down, merely a request for him to stay still. Ash obeyed, relaxing back into Sweeney’s lap once more, though not nearly as relaxed as he’d been before.

“What do you mean, worship?”

“You know better than most that worship, powerful worship, requires blood. Or that blood is powerful worship.” Ash’s hand moved to his own shoulder, rubbing at the muscle that connected it to his neck like he was working out an ache. “Worship requires belief, and belief without blood only gets you so far. You’ve probably experience the need for it from a receptive point of view. I experience the opposite. The need to… worship something. Sacrifice myself. My blood. Through ritual.”

Sweeney nodded. He knew what Ash meant, at least from the perspective of whatever god-like-thing he was. He’d felt that hunger, the need for sacrifice. Or the need to fight, rather. That was always what had revitalized him. Spilling blood. Perhaps having his own spilt in return, but that had never been the goal. He’d never experienced the need to… _sacrifice_.

Now, looking at Ash, he began to feel the ghost of that familiar hunger. It was like talking about it had called it forth. But this time, his fingers didn’t itch for a fight. This time the image called to mind was of Ash, bleeding.

Bleeding for _him_.

The pain that would sink into his huge, green eyes, how his lips would part or press together, his jaw clenching from the effort of drawing crimson through his skin to drip down it.

 _I dedicate this blood to Buile Suibhne_ . Sweeney imagined him saying. Or, no, _I dedicate this blood to you_ perhaps. Or maybe _for you, my love._ Ash had called him that before, but only on occasion. He liked hearing it. He’d like to hear it again.

He’d like to see the contrast of the boy’s skin and what flowed beneath it, his paleness marred by blood, tasting it on his tongue as he kissed him with copper, making him whimper and squirm, pressing his fingers to the gash and coaxing more forth until he was dripping, parting his legs and slipping his bloodied fingers into him, bringing forth a different kind of wetness.

Would Ash draw first blood? Or would he let Sweeney?

Run a blade over his body as Ash tried his best to stay still, and maybe Sweeney would have to tie him down, or maybe Ash would beg for it, or maybe beg for him to stop, helpless to do anything as he was marked and claimed permanently…

Sweeney tried to feel disgusted with himself and managed only a weak guilt.

“Sacrifice to who?” He finally asked. Ash shrugged.

“Depends. Right now, I… well I’ve met most of the gods personally so it’d feel weird to do it for any of them. Mostly.” His eyes flicked away. “I don’t even know if any of them would… want it.”

“Want you to cut yourself?”

“Want me to worship them.”

Sweeney inhaled sharply, drawing Ash’s gaze, now confused, back to his face.

“Right. Listen.” Sweeney gritted his teeth and took a slow breath. “Setting aside the fact that gods need worship, no matter what kind or from who, your worship isn’t-” He stopped, frowning, then tried again. “They’d be lucky-” He stopped again. “Whatever form your worship takes, they would- they _should_ count their fucking blessings to get it. Especially your blood.” His hand drifted from Ash’s shoulder to his neck, half curling around it, his thumb drifting over the hollow beneath his jaw, by his ear, just above his pulse point.

Ash’s eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, his lips parting in a quiet sigh.

“I’d only ever give it to you.” He murmured, so quietly that Sweeney thought he’d misheard him at first.

“I don’t want-” Sweeney licked his lips. He couldn’t lie like that. “I don’t want to see-” No, that was a lie too. “You can worship in other ways.”

Ash nodded slowly, eyes still shut.

“I can. But blood is… special. Powerful. So is pain.”

“So is death.” Sweeney said harshly. “Do you want that too?”

Ash opened his eyes.

“Sometimes.”

Sweeney’s thumb stilled. His grip on Ash’s neck tightened.

“Don’t say-” He stopped himself again. It seemed that words weren’t coming easily at the moment. “Fine then.” He forcibly loosened his grip. It was one of the harder things he’d done in life. “Want it as much as you like. As long as that’s all you do.”

“Are you asking me to live for you?” Ash asked quietly. There was no trace of humor in his face, though he’d tried to make the question sound like a joke.

Sweeney didn’t reply. He just leaned down and kissed Ash fiercely.

When he pulled back, Ash moved with him, and for a moment Sweeney was worried that he was moving away. But Ash merely settled himself back into his lap, twining his arms around Sweeney’s neck and burying his head into his shoulder.

Sweeney wrapped his arms around him, noticing for the millionth time how _small_ the boy was.

He rubbed Ash’s back in slow circles. It was as meditative for him as it was relaxing for Ash.

“I don’t want anyone else spilling your blood. Not even you.” Sweeney murmured, turning his head to press his lips against the mass of fiery curls resting on his shoulder.

“Anyone _else_?” Came the muffled reply. Sweeney froze. Ash peeked out from where he’d hidden his face. “If… if I decide I do want to do it. Would you?” Sweeney remained silent and still, not trusting himself to speak. “If I were going to do it anyway. I would… I’d rather you do it. Please?”

Sweeney nodded, his hand coming up to stroke Ash’s curls. His hair was getting quite long now. It fell past his shoulders, still as wild and untamed as ever, surprisingly soft and silky despite it’s tangled appearance. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of being able to touch it, or any other part of Ash for that matter.

“Thank you.” Ash whispered, and hid his face once more.

Sweeney tried not to feel satisfied.

He tried, at least.

He truly did.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so.  
> Trans/homophobia: Sweeney doesn't REALLY see Ash as anything other than a boy. His internalized homophobia is prompting him to make excuses for being attracted to him. If Ash WASN'T trans he'd still be making "well he's feminine and you're topping so it's not REALLY gay" excuses.  
> Self-harm: don't f**kin self-harm, kids. It's dangerous and addictive and can lead to infections (yes, even if you're SUPER SAFE) and did I mention it's ADDICTIVE?? That's why Ash is struggling with it. It's an addiction.  
> Blood (kink): Yeah Sweeney has a thing for blood, both his and others. He also has a thing for pain, both his and others. Ash has some... similar proclivities. They're gonna have to figure out how to healthily deal with them.


End file.
